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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576165">A Reason To Never Procrastinate Again. Ever. Seriously.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grungey_Romantic/pseuds/Grungey_Romantic'>Grungey_Romantic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Ramones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comedy, Horror, Magic, OC, Other, Supernatural - Freeform, WIP, Witchcraft, dee dee is a ghost summoned by a mess of a girl, ghost - Freeform, they are both disasters, they are doing their best</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:55:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grungey_Romantic/pseuds/Grungey_Romantic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, maybe summoning a ghost to help her write some songs before her deadline wasn't Amor's best idea. And maybe a little protective magic before a summoning wouldn't have killed her. But yeah, that demon the sneaked in with Dee Dee kinda needs to go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>None</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Something Went Right!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Okay, maybe the whole “desperate times call for desperate measures” thing didn’t exactly apply to summoning a ghost to help write the last few songs needed for her band to even have half a chance at recording something that could be called an album, but she had three extra things working against her:</span>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><span>Executive dysfunction cared nothing for deadlines</span></li>
<li><span>She didn’t really know what the hell she was doing</span></li>
<li><span>She may or may not have already told her bandmates she finished the songs and they may or may not be sure she’ll be showing them the songs when they next managed to meet up, which may or may not be in two days.</span></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which left her with three options:</span>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><span>Look up songwriting inspiration and try to circumvent her ADHD</span></li>
<li><span>Fess up to her bandmates that she panicked and lied and actually kinda needed help writing the songs because she doesn’t know what she’s doing, like a mature, reasonable person without social anxiety and no fear of disappointing others.</span></li>
<li><span>Summon the motherfucking ghost of a motherfucking musician and beg them for help and hope no one would pick up on any similarities, work off from there, and hope for the best.</span></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <span>So obviously, she went with the very logical, fool-proof third option. Because she was fucking desperate and a little scared of getting kicked out of the one thing she had that was closest to a social life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So it was midnight. She was home alone (again…), the lights were out, a combination of dollar store tea lights and Bath and Body Works candles light around her, a pentacle drawn on the large piece of cardboard she was kneeling on, her black hoodie up (that counted as a cloak, right?) over purple curls, and eyes trained on the ouija board. “Board” being a loose term here, as it was a piece of computer paper with the alphabet and some numbers scrawled on it in sharpie, with up upside down shot glass on top of it. She shrugged, picking up the printed out incantation. She took a deep breath, looking straight ahead of her, and reciting it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spirits of the dead! I, Amor-wait, do I say my full name? Yeah- Amor Rabia Diaz, call on you tonight! Show thyself to me!” She said, trying to not let her voice shake. She looked around the dark, candle lit room, at the ouija board, the small, flickering flames. No change. “Um… please?” She added on awkwardly, looking around again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apparently, manners did it, at the candle flames flickered wildly, all toward the center, toward Amor and her makeshift ouija board. She gasped as the shot glass moved, gliding along the paper, three different letters. The name the spell said the spirit would give. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>DEE DEE.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amor grabbed the paper from where she left it, dangerously close to a candle, and went to read the last part. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Um- Spirit of Dee Dee! Show thyself, as I allow thee into this mortal world! Make thy being be seen, and seen by me! Uh, fuck, why did they do a cursive font- As this spell follows my plea, what is done belongs to me! Um- So mote it be!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She screwed her eyes shut as the room grew colder, a wind coming from seemingly nowhere, flames dancing around her hunched over, scrawny form, a sudden chaos-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then nothing. A calm that came as quickly as the chaos did. Except she wasn’t alone. At least, she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> alone. She opened one eye showly, both suddenly wide in shock as her mouth dropped open, her limbs going lax and dropping the paper, hoodie sleeves sliding over her hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right in front of her, the ghostly form of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking Dee Dee goddamn Ramone</span>
  </em>
  <span> shook some hair from his face, coughing a few times. “Don’t get why they say we need to go </span>
  <em>
    <span>through </span>
  </em>
  <span>the candles, seriously, it isn’t fuckin’ fun- oh! You did the summoning! Heh, gotta admit, this has probably been the least stuffy one I’ve ended up in- were you looking for someone in particular?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amor shook her head, trying to get herself back to reality. “Um, no, I just did something really dumb and need help-” She took a deep breath, sitting criss cross, figuring she could drop the dramatic kneeling position and lower her hood, curls falling in a mess around her face. “I’m Amor…” She mumbled awkwardly, the anxiety kicking in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s a ghost, for fucks sake! It’s not like he’s gonna be a dick, you’re the one who brought him to the mortal world!</span>
  </em>
  <span> “S-sorry, I wasn’t actually expecting this to really work..”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Dee Dee laughed, sitting across from her. “In all honesty, I wouldn’t either. So, what brings me here?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Amor took another deep breath, closing her eyes for a second before opening them, looking up. “Before I go farther, just know that I am perfectly aware that I am doing something hella extra for a very, very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid issue of my own anxiety induced creation.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can assure you that whatever it is, I’ve probably done stupider. Hell, I even died!” He said, with a slight smile. Amor felt herself calm down slightly. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Okay, so I’m in a band, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And they want to record something we can put online as an album.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I was supposed to write some songs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The next time we get together is in two days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Where is this going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They think I wrote three songs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I panicked and told them that…” She mumbled, looking down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve all done that. How many do you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Half of one… and like, two other choruses.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Damn… anything else?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Crippling fear of disappointing people, severe ADHD, and anxiety about getting kicked out of my only social circle that may or may not be rational?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I meant music-wise, but that’s fair.” He said shrugging. “So, two days to finish three songs?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Amor nodded. “Look, I know this is probably hella dumb and I swear it wouldn’t happen again-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Kiddo, I’ve written in less time.” He said, giving her a smile. “What do ya play?”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Guitar… badly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get your guitar and show me what you got, kiddo.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Nevermind, Shit Just Rapidly Went Sideways</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, rhyming is the hard part- what was that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amor looked up, glancing around the room. “I… have no clue. Should I look?” She asked, biting her lip again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dee Dee nodded. “Probably… I’ll come with.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amor got up, placing her guitar to the side and walking to the kitchen, Dee Dee’s ghost trailing behind her. She stepped in the doorway, blinking a few times before turning around. “Nope!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She really shouldn’t have said that, because the shadowy figure whirled around, speaking in forgotten tongues in low, needlessly dramatic whispers. It crept, almost floating, across the floor, right towards the two in the doorway.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Get behind me!” Dee Dee hissed, gently shoving the girl behind him. Not that it would really do much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rage and love, rage and love…” The figure whispered, extending… something in their general direction. Might have been an arm. It was too much of a shadow blob to tell. “Give me the child of rage and love…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amor peeked around Dee Dee, one hand holding onto the translucent leather jacket. “What the fuck is that?” She hissed, looking up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A shadow… thing. Um, did you mean to summon a demon, or did it sneak in?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll assume it sneaked in, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How in hell-?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dunno. Ain’t salt supposed to get rid of them?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The salt is in the same room as the demon!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“...Shit- Get thee behind me, foul beast!"</span><br/><br/>"Dee Dee, <em>I'm</em> behind you!"</p><p>
  <span>"...SHIT-"</span>
</p>
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